The Road Foreseen
by Shadowgirl1
Summary: Historical AU. Nagi is a thief in medieval Baghdad and Crawford is a merchant from Europe. Takes place some time between 830-870 A.D./C.E.


"Crawford, do sit down. The servants have prepared us a special meal – stew with chopped black truffle and white wine."

"Thank you, Caliph. You honor me with this fine meal," he sat at the soft cushioned banquette bowing his head to the leader of the Abbasid Empire. He knew the rarity of the desert truffle and how expensive it was to acquire the rare underground fungi. He wasn't about to pass up an offer for the rare dried mushroom. Its enigmatic flavor was sought after by nobles the world over and no one would dare refuse an invitation to dine with the Caliph.

He waited for the Caliph to eat before he started on his meal, making sure to only use his right hand as he ate. The sweet musty odor met his nose and Crawford allowed himself the luxury of the truffle's taste. "This is a delicious meal, Caliph. Please send my compliments to your chefs."

"I will," the Caliph said. "Perhaps the next time we gather I can have you try one of the chief chef's favorite dishes, _Mulahwajah."_

"I would like that," Crawford said.

"Have you had a chance to wander the city yet?"

"As of yet, no," Crawford said. "I came directly from my caravan at the gates to deliver the Byzantine manuscripts to you. I hope that they are met with your approval."

"Indeed they are," the Caliph smiled, dabbing at his lips. "I have been looking forward to adding these to my collection."

"I understand that you are a patron of the House of Wisdom as well," Crawford commented.

"I am," the Caliph replied. "Bayt al-hikma is an institute that promotes education and research. My father, the great Haroun al-Rashid, wished for its success. At the moment I am funding observatories for our astronomers."

"It has grown in renown," Crawford said. "The great minds in Europe speak well of the intellectual center and say its library is only second to Alexandria."

The Caliph smiled at the flattery. "Are you fluent in Greek, Crawford?"

"I am, along with several other languages," Crawford responded humbly. "It is good for business to be versed in the many lands of which I trade."

"You should visit Bayt al-hikma and speak with my son's tutor, Al-Kindi" the Caliph said. "He is a philosopher and would love to have the opportunity to discuss such with a foreigner. I will arrange a meeting."

"I would like that," Crawford replied. He looked to the window at the position of the sun. "However, if you will excuse me Caliph al-Ma'mun, I must attend to other business in your fair city and settle myself at my lodging. Long travel does take its toll on the body."

"Of course," the Caliph rose and Crawford stood after he did. "Eat, rest, and find yourself some pleasure. And do not worry about the price; I will be taking care of it for you."

"You flatter me Caliph, but I canno-

"I insist," the Caliph said.

Crawford took that as an order and bowed his head. "As you wish, Caliph."

As he left the room, the Caliph rinsed his hands and Crawford's eyesight blurred. The splash of water triggered a vision that nearly took him to his knees. He rounded a corner and clutched onto the wall, his hand clawing at his forehead.

_River bank…the Caliph…water so pure… included with a meal…someone speaks…fresh dates…very specific kind…the voice joins him…sickness wracks them…they survive…the Caliph does not. Death and belief claims him._

Crawford regained his composure and took a steadying breath as the vision faded. Lately his Sight had been growing more and more potent. The Elders of his merchant guild knew about his gift and followed his words of profit and power. For this particular expedition they were wary of Crawford's choice of trade locale, unknowing of his ulterior motives in Baghdad.

He dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief and left the palace. He navigated the narrow, winding streets taking in the scents of frankincense and spice. A burble of different languages filtered around him, fragments of conversation filling the street with diversity. He would have to troll the bazaar later for exotic wares.

He made his way to the Caravan Inn, ensuring that his camels and trade items were properly secure. Making acquaintance with the Caliph afforded him good security over his items. He pinched the bridge of his nose as another vision threatened to overwhelm him.

"Are you all right, Sir?" His travel guide placed a calloused hand on his shoulder.

"I am, Ahmed," he replied. "I think perhaps the heat and the excitement of the city have overwhelmed me."

"The Caliph sent over his representatives to ensure that your room was fully furnished," Ahmed continued. "I confess that even my lodging and that of the other men are far better than usual."

"When you know the desires of your seller, Ahmed, he sees that you are well taken care of," Crawford said with a nod. "I will retire now. See that an inventory is delivered to my room in the morning and make sure our supplies are replenished."

Daylight waned and Crawford watched the sunset from the comfort of his room. Moonlight and fire lit the night and he was fortunate not to travel the dark streets at this hour. He sipped at his gritty tea and went over to splash water on his face. The oppressive heat from earlier made his clothes stick to skin and the cooler temperature made him shiver. He hastily changed clothes and bedded down for the night.

Street performers stirred him awake in the morning and he headed down to the lower level for breakfast. Bread and a bean dish filled him and he made sure to drink a sufficient amount of water, placing a store of it in a flask at his waist. He could always refill his supply at a local water vendor.

He wandered beneath a cypress tree and took refuge in its shade while he waited. A rabble of dust-laden boys caught his attention as they swarmed a robed vendor. He watched them run off with a handful of food, passing it back and forth to each other so that the unobservant on the street couldn't tell just which one of them was a thief.

"Thieves!" The vendor shook a large knife at them. "When we catch you, we'll cut off your hands! Stay in the thieves' quarter where you belong!"

While the ruckus occurred a smaller boy hid around a white washed corner and levitated a bundle of food toward his location. Crawford watched him with interest and his eyes flashed.

This was why he came to Baghdad.

The boy ran down an alley and hungrily tore at the food. Crumbs fell from his mouth as he ripped the bread into chewable pieces. A pack of boys saw what he was up to and angrily yelled at him to share his bounty.

The boy ignored them and continued to silently eat the bread. The other boys started pelting him with stones and he curled into a ball, quietly whimpering at the attack. The thieves swarmed him, tearing at his clothes, kicking and pulling at him until they got the bread. Leaving him a bloody mess, they ran down another street.

Crawford approached the boy and kneeled down, offering him a handkerchief. He was mildly startled as an invisible force pushed him away. "So, you do fight back."

The boy growled and tackled Crawford, limping away from the attack scene.

Crawford checked his pockets and chuckled. "Enjoy the treat, boy."

The boy winced as he hid behind a bramble of rose bushes. He nibbled lightly at the sweet biscuit, closing his eyes at the flavor. A shadow loomed over him and he was grabbed roughly by a larger man. The boy growled and twisted like a feral dog as the man struggled to restrain him.

"My, aren't you a pretty thing," he leered. He sniffed at the boy's mouth. "And you smell so sweet for something so dirty." He reached underneath the boy's rags and sneered as his prey froze in shock. "Tell me boy, are you greased or tight as a babe?"

A punch to the man's temple laid him heavily out against the wall and the boy curled into a ball. Crawford rubbed at his knuckle and kicked the man for good measure.

"Are you all right?"

The boy didn't respond and rocked back and forth.

"My name is Crawford," he knelt again. His looked seriously to the boy and handed him the flask of water. "When was the last time you had water?"

The boy bit back a sob and shakily grabbed at the flask, choking on the water at first before he guzzled it down.

"What's your name?"

"N…nagi," he responded quietly. His eyes fluttered for a moment before he passed out against the wall.

Crawford sighed and wrapped the boy in his robes, lifting him into his arms. He made his way back to the Inn, taking care to use a back entrance as he placed the boy in his room.

By the time Nagi awoke, jasmine was blooming in the night and Crawford was lightly dozing at his side. Nagi gathered the blankets and moved dizzily toward the door.

"It's locked," Crawford said with his eyes closed. "Don't bother."

Nagi looked to the window.

"You're up too high," Crawford said, opening his eyes. "Besides, I still need to tend to your wounds." He reached for Nagi and the boy recoiled. "You need to get out of these filthy clothes so that I can wash and bandage you."

Nagi's eyes were wide with fear.

"I'm not going to harm you," Crawford said. "I have new clothes for you and bath water over in that corner."

Nagi wrung his hands and followed the line where Crawford's finger pointed. "You will do nothing to me after I am clean?"

"I'm not like the other men around here," Crawford said. "I want to see you clean, well, and with a full belly."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"You saw my curse," Nagi said softly.

"Your curse?"

A pitcher floated in the air and Crawford grabbed it. "I saw a _gift_, not a curse."

"How did you know where I was hiding?"

"I see many things," Crawford said as he rolled up his sleeves. He stood and turned to the sudsy bucket of water. "And I see that you are especially dirty." He extended his hand. "Will you accept my help?"

Nagi hesitantly took his hand and allowed himself to be led over to the bucket. He squeezed his eyes shut when Crawford removed his clothes and he waited for the inevitable rough touch. His breathing increased and then stilled as silence filled the room. He opened his eyes to Crawford's penetrating gaze.

"You can get in the water now."

Nagi nodded and squatted, yelping at the smaller bucket of water that was dumped over him.

"Sorry, but you've got a lot of grime on you," Crawford said. "This may sting a little."

Nagi winced as soap coated his skin, seeping into the cuts from earlier in the day. His skin was scrubbed roughly and layers of dirt stained the water. The sweet smelling soap reminded him of lemon and he smiled a little as he leaned into Crawford's gentler touch.

Crawford kneaded his fingers into unkempt hair, thankful that the Caliph provided him with an array of aromatic oils and soaps. He carefully ran a brush through the boy's hair and placed a reassuringly hand on his shoulder before he cut away the knots.

Slivers of hair joined the mucky water and Nagi watched them swirl into soapy patterns. After another rinse Crawford wrapped a towel around him and helped him out of the bucket. Nagi inhaled the airy odor of the blanket and cuddled against it, astounded at the softness of the fabric. He barely noticed Crawford drying his skin.

Crawford motioned for Nagi to sit and prepared a salve in a small bowl. He tenderly applied it to the many abrasions, wrapping them carefully after application. He stared at Nagi's back, motioning for him to stand, and his gaze lowered toward the tip of his spine and around to his front. "You've been hurt down there."

Nagi trembled and nodded.

"There are still some wounds that have not been healed," Crawford sat back. "I need to apply some medicine there."

Nagi swallowed. "B…but…"

"Trust me," Crawford said. He blew warm air onto his hands and lathered them with salve. He held Nagi against his chest and reached around him. Nagi whimpered as Crawford's finger coated the inflamed ring of muscle and when Crawford gently pulled back to tend to his front, he absently bucked into his palm.

"I…I'm sorry!"

"It's all right," Crawford said as he finished. "That's normal for young men and boys." He pulled away and washed his hands in a bowl of water before he dried them and handed Nagi new clothes. "Here."

Nagi's face was flushed as he pulled on the new tunic.

"You also have some fresh robes and new sandals," Crawford said. "But, for now, you will rest."

He noticed Nagi eyeing areas on the floor.

"No, no," Crawford said, lifting him onto the bed. "You may have the spot against the wall. I'll not have you sleeping on the ground unless it is necessary." He removed his sandals and laid back, rolling on his side away from the boy. After a few moments he opened an eye as a warm body nuzzled against him, curling against the small of his back. He yawned and closed his eye, wondering what to do with the boy now.

When morning arrived, Crawford shifted away from the boy and stretched. Nagi had whimpered a little in his sleep, but managed to get some decent rest. He watched the boy rub his eyes and blink curiously at him.

"Hungry?"

Nagi nodded.

They proceeded down to the bottom level and Nagi stuck close to the older man. Crawford motioned the chef over and said, "two Kitab al-Tabikh, please."

Nagi blinked. "I can have that? Real, _cooked_ fish."

"Of course," Crawford said. "Have you ever had this cooked in a tannur before?"

"Only in the trash," Nagi said.

"I see," Crawford said. "For this dish, they roast the head of the fish, bake the middle, and fry the tail."

"How do they do that?"

"By wrapping it several layers of cloth and an oil-soaked canvas," Crawford said as he pointed out the chefs working. He smiled as Nagi stared, transfixed. The boy was inquisitive. He liked that. "I plan on delivering this recipe to my contacts in Europe. Would you like to come along when I do?"

"I…what? Europe?! Where's _that_?"

Crawford pulled out a map and pointed out where they were in relation to Europe. He was pleased as Nagi traced out a variety of trade routes he heard travelers tell him about but never saw. "So, would you like to come along? I'm in need of an apprentice."

"_Me_?"

"Unless you would prefer to stay here." The Innkeeper delivered their meal and Crawford waited for Nagi to respond.

Nagi looked to the food and then Crawford. "I…I'll go."

"Good," Crawford said, motioning for Nagi to eat his food like him. "I have business to wrap up in the city and I want you to accompany me."

Nagi nodded and awkwardly mimicked Crawford, too stunned to give a reply.

Ahmed entered the Inn and placed a pile of scrolls beside Crawford. "Inventory accounted for, Sir."

"Very good," Crawford said to his travel guide. "I will be visiting the House of Wisdom today. Have you heard from the Caliph yet?"

"He sent word that you're to meet Al-Kindi at midday," Ahmed replied. He tilted his head at the boy. "What is this? A pet?"

"No," Crawford said, "this is my new servant boy, a merchant-in-training. The men are to understand that he is hands off and under my protection."

"Of course, Sir," Ahmed said with a bow of his head. "Shall I send a letter to the Guild Elders?"

"That is not necessary," Crawford said. "I will speak with them personally upon my return."

"As you wish," Ahmed said before he left.

Nagi finished his meal with gusto and waited patiently for orders from Crawford. They walked through the streets, winding through the calls of prayer and colorful awnings that filled the air. When they reached the House of Wisdom, Crawford presented his letters at the entrance and was delivered to a private study. He was in awe at the amount of scholars copiously translating Greek texts into Arabic and the sheer number of books that were catalogued within the House's walls.

For Nagi, this was a foreign place in his own homeland.

They were led to a middle-aged man who smiled to them as they approached.

"Greetings Crawford, I am Abu Yusuf Yaqub ibn Ishaq al-Sabbah Al-Kindi," he said, "but since you are ferengi, I shall spare you and allow you to call the descendant of Royal Kindah Tribe of Southern Arabia, Al-Kindi."

"Thank you for sparing this foreigner, Al-Kindi," Crawford said with a chuckle. "I am esteemed to be in the presence of such a philosopher."

"As well you should be, boy," Al-Kindi said with a laugh. "Come come, sit with me and let us talk."

Crawford motioned for Nagi to sit near the door as he walked over to Al-Kindi's sitting area. They engaged in matters of trade and travel, until they finally reached philosophy.

"I have undergone many years of study to become a philosopher," Al-Kindi said, "but even a title such as mine pales to that of a prophet. Society states that prophecy is bestowed by God and that is where the prophet receives their truth. We philosophers must arrive at truth with great difficulty."

"Even so," Crawford said, "should the prophet not understand the message from 'God' then he receives a mistruth. I believe that training of the prophet ensures a proper interpretation of the truth."

"You pose an interesting theory," Al-Kindi said. "But what the prophet receives, distorted as it may be, is often much clearer than what the philosopher uncovers. The prophet becomes superior to the philosopher if he presents it in a more believable and coherent manner to the common people."

"Even so," Crawford said, "a prophet can make predictions where truth is interpreted differently by every age that encounters his words. The same can be applied to philosophy and the context with which it is studied. A culture will interpret it for their respective era."

Al-Kindi nodded and said excitedly, "I believe that prophecy comes not from God, but through the human faculty of 'imagination', that pure and well-prepared souls can receive information about future events. However, I must present this in a way where philosophy and religion ultimately is the same thing for the Caliph. Though the matters of arriving at revelation are different, the content is the same."

"Pure souls, you say?" Crawford chuckled. "I think perhaps it depends on one's definition of pure. Sometimes prophecy can just occur spontaneously. There may be a greater purpose, but often an individual's sensitivity is merely heightened due to circumstance and the willingness to trust in their abilities."

"Have you ever met a prophet, Crawford?"

Crawford smiled. "I know one personally, but unfortunately he does not wish to tell the world about his ability."

"Ahh," Al-Kindi said, "I admire this prophet of whom you speak. He must interpret truth and follow his own, despite what others say about it."

"You speak like you are acquainted with him," Crawford said. He paused as his head throbbed. "I have enjoyed our conversation, Al-Kindi. But, I must be going if I wish to explore the remainder of this establishment before sundown. I wager it will take me many hours to explore."

"That it will," Al-Kindi said excitedly. "I wish you an enlightened journey and safe travels in your future endeavors. Do not hesitate to write to me should your prophet friend wish to talk with me."

"Thank you," Crawford said as he bowed. "May peace be upon you and your studies." He winced as he walked to the door, ignoring Nagi's concerned gaze as he staggered behind a pillar.

"Crawford! Are you okay?" Nagi tried to steady him.

"I…" His Sight turned crimson as the sounds of battle rang in his ears. "_1258…the Tigris will run black…ink spilled with blood…libraries destroyed…Mongols invade…this building destroyed…river stained black…all this…gone."_

Nagi stared at Crawford in shock and shook his shoulder. "Crawford, come back."

Crawford's vision drifted back to normal and he calmed his breathing as he focused on Nagi.

"What happened?"

"Nothing," Crawford said quickly, "just a strong reaction to circumstance." He wiped shakily at his sweaty forehead.

"You…saw the future," Nagi said. "Y…you're the prophet you told Al-Kindi about."

Crawford turned to the boy, surprised he was able to follow their conversation. "You cannot tell anyone."

"I won't," Nagi said. "I just…didn't think there was anyone else who had a different gift than normal people."

"You'd be surprised," Crawford said as he absently thought about the Guild Elders. "With training, you can control your abilities and have them grow in power. But sometimes, overwhelming events can cause the abilities to consume you."

"I understand," Nagi said solemnly. "Are you still going to look at the rest of the rooms here?"

"Of course," Crawford said. "I want to enjoy this building while it lasts. Though some places are doomed to be destroyed, their memory remains in history. I do not allow future events to worry me, unless I can do something about them."

They walked through the House of Wisdom, quietly taking in the knowledge that was exchanged and housed. They gradually returned to the Inn, taking a late supper before they retired for the evening.

As they crawled into bed, Nagi stared at the ceiling and asked, "Could you help me develop my abilities, Crawford?"

"Yes," Crawford said. "Your talent will be useful in creating a barrier to prevent the effects of sandstorms. So tonight, I want you to dream about the wind and a shield that can deflect the sand. We'll be gathering the caravan together in a few days, so you'll have time to practice."

Nagi yawned and curled against him.

Crawford watched him fall asleep and closed his eyes to wonder: _Is this truly what it feels like to be a father?_

-------------

From the writings of Al-Kindi, inspired after meeting a merchant named Crawford:

_We should not be ashamed to acknowledge truth from whatever source it comes to us, even if it is brought to us by former generations and foreign peoples. For him who seeks the truth there is nothing of higher value than truth itself._

* * *

**Author's Note: **Initially written for a challenge community on LJ.

**References: **(Being that I possessed little knowledge about Medieval Baghdad, I was intrigued by the challenge, so I spent several days doing research. Do forgive me some historical inaccuracies.)

Hart, Eloise. "Pages of Medieval Mideastern History."

Hourani, Albert. A History of Arab Peoples. 1991.

_Incoherence of the Philosophers_. Al-Kindi.

A few other internet sources were utilized as well.


End file.
